I
am very taken with the powerful debut by poet, translator and educator K.B.Thors, her Vulgar Mechanics (Toronto
ON: Coach House Books, 2019), an assemblage of tight, fearless lyrics composed
of a rigorously and lively gymnastic language. Thors’ poems are physical and
unflinching; a sequence of full-bodied lyrics, constantly pushing and punching,
articulating a clear-eyed view of the dark spaces of urban coming-of-age, of
toxic masculinity and anger, and of just what the body and spirit can endure. “The
body suffers no false progress.” she writes, in the poem “SOFT PALATE.”

Her
poems are confident and capable, and have some of the most striking opening
lines I’ve read in a long time. Thor immediately grabs your attention, and
holds it, with openings such as “The only record of that burlesque was the
sonnet / we found on the floor, a trampled sheet we tried to preserve / in simple
syrup and steel-toed boots.” from “DUNK TANK,” to “I left my nipple clamps at
the Chrysler factory / in Windsor.” from “ON THE PLANET OF ALL TIME: TECUMSEH,”
and “I can’t promise not to laugh but yes, sir, / I’ll jump your gun.” from “REVERSE
COWGIRL.”

This
is an impressively confident and capable debut, and Thor’s mix of lyric and
prose explorations of the urban prairie and New York City are sharp, stunning
and revelatory. I would ask where she came from, but her poems provide.

The rig pig I knew best was a genius. The male
teachers who labelled him a problem kid were my cheerleaders – best for bright
girls to steer clear of that kind of boy. Unrescued from boredom he became a
troubled teen, a walking DUI who intimidated the calculus teacher then went
north to work. We met in town every Christmas, he made my little sister laugh
by ordering every possible Starbucks modification, extra whip non-fat sugarless
double pump. We discussed the news. Quiznos opened again – during the boom it
closed for lack of teen labour. Even on a downturn, there’s always money for a
guy who can add. Cash for tatts, trucks, drugs, girls. I wonder what else he
could have done, how wondering makes me an asshole. When I texted him about the
Snowstorm, he replied in a redneck meme: